


and I'm having trouble catching my breath

by in_another_universe



Series: 5sos Imagines (originally from tumblr) [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), 5SOS
Genre: <3, F/M, So Sorry about that, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, also side note there is some talk about small spaces and lots of people, ash and luke and cal are kind of mentioned, be warned, but they're not really there that much, michael is a goofball and you love it, oh also tw warning for panic attacks, seriously, so um don't read if it makes you panicky I understand, they pop up a bit, you are sassy and michael loves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_another_universe/pseuds/in_another_universe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was also originally published on tumblr. Basically, you're not really a fan of 5sos, but you get roped into going with your sister, and the crowd makes you have a panic attack. Fortunately, Mr. Michael Clifford is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I'm having trouble catching my breath

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! sorry for any spelling mistakes/shifts from first to second person. I wrote this at like 3 am last night (morning?) so it's probably a little (hella) sketchy. oops. Also, since I am completely and embarrassingly unoriginal, the title is once again a lyric. Can you guess which one? (probably, since I'm not nearly as cool and mysterious as I seem to think).   
> Oh also, a disclaimer: however much I wish I did, I don't own 5sos. All credits to… um… I don't really know. All creds to 5sos for being 5sos. Yay I'm not articulate. This is not news. Okay. Bye now.   
> tumblr: www.the-angels-have-the-phandom.tumblr.com

Okay, so you kind of had to admit that some of their music was okay. In a totally loser-ish, not cute at all, gross man-boy kind of way (okay, so maybe you liked their music the tiniest little bit). But you were not, under any circumstances, a hardcore fan. You only owned like two of their songs (three? four?) and the only reason you were actually here was because concert tickets for your sister and her friend were your younger sister’s birthday presents. And your parents, cruel dictators that they were, had forced you to go along.

So, in hindsight, this whole thing was your younger sister’s fault. She was the one who had forced you to listen to their songs in “preparation” as she had called it, and she was the one who had dragged you here, to be trampled by hundreds upon hundreds of screaming, crying, hysterical fangirls (and the occasional fanboy). And you didn’t _do_ small spaces. They made you feel nauseous on all kinds of different levels. You didn’t _do_ forced physical contact.

And you _tried_ to get away, leaving your sister and her friend to get caught up in the hysteria (you would find them later) in favour of finding a quiet, larger space.

Unfortunately for you and your panicky tendencies, there was no such place, even in this huge venue. There were people _everywhere_.

Oh god. Everywhere. You felt the tell-tale signs of a panic attack begin to start up, a lump rising in your throat and increasing the claustrophobia you already felt creeping up and wrapping around you like an uncomfortable, suffocating kind of blanket.

Black spots began to dot your vision, and your legs felt like water. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t _breathe_. Oh God. What was happening. You tried to take deep breaths, but they smelled like other people, other people _pressing up against you_ , invading your space. Space. You needed space. You sucked in a breath frantically, and that was when you heard it.

“Omygod, are you okay?” someone asked, sounding almost as panicky as you felt. Suddenly there was a hand on your back, warm and comforting, and it would have felt good, if you hadn’t been struggling for personal space like two seconds ago. As it was, you shrank away, and whoever it was quickly apologized.

“Sorry,” he said. “You have space, okay? You can open your eyes. You’re fine. It’s okay, you’re fine.”

His voice was oddly soothing, and you could feel the attack slowly beginning to wane. You opened your eyes warily. Huh. Somehow, you had ended up against a wall away from the crowd, curled into a ball. The guy sitting next to you, the one with the soothing voice, appeared to be part of the band. He was the one with the coloured hair. Wow. Your sister was going to freak when you told her about this later.

“Hi,” you said slowly. “Thanks.”

He nodded.

“No problem,” he said quietly. “D’you think you’re okay now?”

You blinked, quickly realizing he probably had a show to play, in like, _now_.

“Omygod, I’m totally delaying the show aren’t I?!” you exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! You can go, I’ll be fine here.”

He looked a bit taken aback, helping you up carefully.

“Are you kidding? I’m not just going to leave you here!” he insisted.

“Mikey. You’re him, right?” you asked. He nodded. “Wow, my sister is gonna freak when I tell her about this,” you muttered. He raised an eyebrow. “She loves you more than Starbucks,” you explained.  

He smiled. He was cute when he did that. He had a nice mouth. And when you said nice, you meant, like, _really nice_. It was all pink and gorgeous, and you bet it would feel really nice pressed against your- okay, where the hell was this coming from?

“I’ll make sure to find her later and tell her the feeling’s mutual,” he replied.

“Omygod, don’t, she would probably die of happiness, and my parents would ground me for the rest of time for letting my sister die on my watch. I’m not supposed to let her fraternize with any males while she’s here,” you informed him.

He blinked, looking at you shyly through his lashes. He had nice eyes too, but oh god, you were _so_ not about to go down that lane. Stay focused.

“What about you? Are you banned from fraternizing too?” he asked. You snickered, because he was adorable, you were pretty sure you were blushing, and that was probably one of the worst pickup lines you had ever heard.

“Nice pickup line,” you complemented him sarcastically. He frowned.

“Excuse me, I have great girl-getting skills,” he retorted. You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe in comparison to, like, a gay guy,” you replied. He groaned.

“This would be so much easier if you were a fan,” he grumbled. You smiled.

“I never said I wasn’t a fan,” you informed him. “But I’m not that hardcore of one.”

He looked fake affronted for a second.

“Are you indirectly insulting me?” he demanded. You folded your arms.

“All I’m saying is that you’re lucky you’re so cute,” you replied. “Now, you need to focus, Mr. Clifford. Don’t you have a show, like, five minutes ago, or something?”

He checked his watch absentmindedly, blushing from when you called him cute.

“Shit, less than that, actually,” he said, eyes widening. “Come with me.” He seized your arm, and led you up the stairs to the backstage. The bassist, (Calum??), caught sight of you both, and smirked.

“Mikey, did you conveniently forget the rule about sex with the groupies?” he asked innocently. You felt your cheeks go red and you fired back an insult as a defense:

“Excuse me, but I will never be a groupie for your shitty band, don’t insult me.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” he replied, arms raised in defeat. You sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a little on edge,” you admitted. Michael patted you on the back a little awkwardly. It seemed he was still a little unsure about how you dealt with physical contact after what happened during your attack. “I’m not _that_ squeamish, Clifford,” you informed him. “Just because your band sucks, doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to comfort me.”

He smiled, looking relieved.

“Boys, we’re on in 20,” Ashton shouted from somewhere in the darkness that was backstage.

“You’ll wait here?” Michael asked. You nodded.

“I’ll wait here,” you promised. He grinned, and it was probably the cutest thing you had ever seen.

“Cool,” he said, eyes sparkling as he leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, before racing out onstage with the other boys. You felt your face begin to burn again as you watched him play, and you realized that you were probably an idiot about this whole not-liking-5 Seconds of Summer-thing.

\-----------

Okay, so they were kind of great. Aside from the fact that the songs they played (most of which you hadn’t heard before) were awesome, the energy they had onstage was this strange blend of adorable, sexy, and infectious. To paraphrase, they were great, and you felt like an idiot for insulting them so much. But not enough of an idiot to quit it.

When they got off stage, Michael trotted over to you immediately.

“So? What did you think?” he asked. You feigned nonchalance.

“You were alright,” you informed him casually. His face fell. Oops. Maybe you had been to convincing. You kissed him on the cheek, returning the favour from earlier. “Just kidding! It was awesome!” You told him.

He lit up like a Christmas tree, and you were reminded for probably the fourth time that night of how adorable he was.

“Really? Thanks!” he replied. Your heart plummeted as you remembered your sister.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking concerned.

“My sister. I’m supposed to be babysitting her,” you replied, turning for the stairs. Maybe you’d be able to find her. Michael caught your arm before you could get anywhere.

“Do you seriously think going into that crowd again is a good idea?” he asked. You frowned. He was probably right. “Listen, why don’t we just ask the boys?”

It took them about three seconds to find her once they said her name into one of the microphones.

“Y/N!” she screamed. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

You hugged her, relieved. In the background, I heard Luke and Michael talking.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Michael was asking. Luke made choking noises.

“You are disgusting,” he decided. You blushed, digging your face into your sister’s arm so they wouldn’t know you had heard. Your sister was babbling on about something extremely irrelevant, so you knew she wouldn’t mind if you interrupted, especially if it was to introduce her to her idol.

“Before I forget,” you said. “Y/S/N, this is Michael Clifford. Mikey, this is my sister Y/S/N.”

He mimed taking off a hat and made a bow.

“Lovely to meet you,” he said. Your sister looked about ready to pass out.

“Okay, um, I’m just gonna go wait over here…” she trailed off, backing away slowly. Michael looked confused.

“I thought you said she liked me,” he said after a minute of staring off after her.

“She’s a fangirl, mate,” Luke said. “They’re all crazy. She’s hot though…”

“Hey,” you said sternly. “She is 15, Hemmings. Back off.”

“Well how old are _you_?” Calum interjected, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“18, not that it’s any of your business, you nasty fake Asian man-boy,” you retorted.

“Woah.” He looked kind of offended for a second, before turning to Mikey. “Mikey, why does your girlfriend hate me?” he whined. You blushed, and ugh, seriously? This was like your fourth blushing incident of the night.

“Um, she’s not-we’re not-it’s not-” Michael stammered.

“Aww, she’s got him tongue tied,” Ashton commented. “Pro tip: ask her out,” he whispered obnoxiously loudly in Michael’s ear, and wow, you hadn’t thought it was possible to blush any harder than you already were, but apparently anything was possible. Eventually, after a bit more teasing, the boys left you alone, and Michael looked at you timidly.

“So, Y/N… d’you wanna go out?” he asked.

You looked at him fake-critically for a minute.

“Hmmm…” you said aloud. “Lose the blue hair, and then we’ll talk,” you said. He frowned. “Kidding,” you added. “I’d love to go out with you, Mikey.”  


End file.
